


HUSHED RENDEZVOUS

by Green_Arrows_of_Karamel (Mare9548)



Series: Olicity VD Smut-a-thon [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Historical AU, OVDSAT 2018, Olicity Valentine's Day's Smut-A-Thon, Olicity Valentine's Day's Smut-A-Thon 2018, Prompt: Can’t make any noise sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Victorian era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mare9548/pseuds/Green_Arrows_of_Karamel
Summary: Felicity, The Viscountess Ghostfox, is invited to Valentine's Day Ball hosted by The Earl of Starling. In a night to celebrate love, can they maintain their romance a secret or will the all-consuming passion Oliver and Felicity share expose their love affair?Fic for Olicity smut-a-thon 2018 - Prompt given: Can’t make any noise sex





	HUSHED RENDEZVOUS

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for Olicity Valentine’s Day Smut-A-Ton 2018. Thank you so much to Meg ( @acheaptrickandacheesy) and Lyn ( @lynslogic) for organizing this again. You guys rock!!
> 
> The prompt I was given is “Can’t make any noise sex”. I toyed with several ideas for this and finally decided to write a Historical AU (Victorian Era, around mid-19th Century). This is my first time writing a story like this so be lenient with me if I got something wrong. Also, it takes a while to get to the smutty part, but I promise you, it’s there. The waiting is worthy. I want to give a special thanks to Mel ( @mel-loves-all), and my soul sister, Carol ( @tdgal1), for their help and endless support. I love you!
> 
> Now, let’s get to the reading. I hope you enjoy it. Don’t forget that comments and constructive criticism are greatly welcomed. They feed my muse.

As Oliver Queen, the sixth Earl of Starling, stands at a long window framed by navy blue drapes with embroidered sashes and silver tassels, he stares out into the cold night of mid-February. The wintry gusts assail the trees mercilessly, making them sway in a macabre dance. A day has passed since the snowstorm ended, but the wind doesn't let the remaining snow settle down.

Oliver snorts, thinking how the chaotic sight outside depicts his night ahead to the perfection. He feels like one of those trees or snowflakes, forced to go in a direction different to the one he wants to go. But he has a duty to fulfill.

He's waiting for his mother to come down, ready to receive the guests they are having for the party tonight. It's tradition for the Starling House to host a ball on Valentine's Day every year. Since Oliver can remember, this is one of the events that the ton awaits with an abandoned zest. It's the party with which the season officially begins. Other social engagements have taken place in weeks past, but none elicited great expectations. However, tonight is a different story.

Only if he could share their enthusiasm. Oliver knows that he, as the most eligible bachelor in London and beyond, will be the favored target for the unmarried young women and their mothers. They hope he'll take the liking of any of the young ladies to be his bride. They don't count on the lack of desire from Oliver to change his marital status. Not for any of them.

He won't do it… except for one woman.

The arrival of his mother to the room exacerbates his surly mood. She is also adamant in Oliver finding a wife soon. Moira, The Dowager Countess of Starling, has let Oliver know her views about the matter repeatedly. He's sure she's about to do it one more time.

"Good evening, Starling."

His mother uses his title instead of his given name when she wants to hijack all his attention. And for sure, she has it now.

Bowing respectfully, he says, "Evening, my lady."

Wasting no time, the Countess goes to the point. "I sincerely hope you heed my advice and make most of the night, searching for a young heiress to wed. Some excellent candidates will in attendance tonight. I have the certainty that Lady McKenna Hall, daughter of the Earl of Croxton, will come. And rumor has it that the Contessa di Moschella could grace us with her presence as well."

The news of the Italian countess coming falls ill on Oliver. Obviously, his mother is unaware of Helena Bertinelli's intense personality and questionable reputation. She's far from being a naive young maiden. Oliver has a first-hand experience with Helena and he's sure that she isn't the type of woman he wants for a wife. A short and tempestuous affair with her taught him the insanity that it would be.

In hopes to sway Moira's determination, Oliver speaks in a toneless voice, keeping his temper in tight rein, "We have discussed this, Mother. I don't doubt that we will have present lovely young ladies, flaunting all the traits of a good wife that you consider appropriate. Nevertheless, their effort will be in vain. I'm not interested in taking a bride."

"That's ridiculous, Oliver," his mother says with annoyance. "As the Earl of Starling…"

He sighs, tuning out his mother's voice and begging to the universe for a little of patience because he has none left when it comes to this matter. Oliver knows by heart his mother's argument. Moira never wastes the opportunity to remind him his duties as the bearer of the title and the importance of having offspring. It seems that his only purpose in life is siring the future Earl. For his mother, it doesn't matter the feelings —or the lack of thereof— he could bear for the woman who would carry the heir.

Among the aristocracy, marriages are of convenience and duty. Exceptions exist, of course, but they're far and between. The last thing he wants is having a marriage similar to the one his parents had. To the public eye, they were always the epitome of what society expects: both spouses coming from the most respectable families, perfect and healthy children, impeccable reputation and the highest standards of morality. On the inside, Oliver's parents were distant from each other… even cold. They lived separate lives, with utmost discretion. Even so, Oliver knows about the countless lovers they had.

He aspires to more than that. He wants to have someone who truly cares about him, about the man behind the title. He wishes that his wife sees him as a person, not just as a means to obtain a distinguished status. He's tired of the dispassionate flirting and meaningless liaisons with countless women. All that he yearns is a woman to love who he is, not what he has or is.

That woman already exists… but he suspects she won't marry him.

"Are you listening to me, Oliver?" his mother's irritated tone seeps into his thoughts. "You're in age to settle down. You have the obligation of finding a wife with whom you can produce children, thus preserving the family lineage and protecting the title and its properties for your heirs."

Oliver glares at her, not wanting to listen any of that. Before he can express one more time his indisposition to abide the countess' demand, the polite voice of his butler, Diggle, floats through the air. "Excuse me, my lord… my lady."

The timely interruption is a godsend. Oliver came close to being rude to his mother. The reprieve allows him to calm down before he does or says something he'd regret later. Silently, Oliver thanks the small favors granted as Diggle announces, "Mr. Harper and Lady Thea have arrived."

True to the butler's words, his baby sister and his brother-in-law walk into the room. Oliver thinks that with the exchange of pleasantries it would be enough for his mother to desist talking about the subject and let him be. He, however, should have known better. Lady Starling turns to her daughter for support.

"I'm glad you have come early, Thea. Perhaps, you could put some sense into your brother."

His sister turns to look at him with an impish glint in her eyes. "Sense about what?"

Short-tempered, Oliver answers before his mother can, "About my unwillingness to find tonight an eager bride to marry and sire as many children as I can… all-male, preferably."

"Why, brother mine! You make it sound as if you're a scare stallion that will be thrown among a herd of broodmares in heat," Thea says struggling with her twitching lips, no doubt, a smile is wanting to break out on her face.

Moira gasps and her eyes flash with indignity. "Such language, Daughter!" she snaps. "A lady never speaks that way."

"And yet, she tells the truth," Oliver interjects.

"Oliver!"

"Oh, mom!" Thea cuts in, approaching her. She takes Moira's hand and squeezes in solidarity. "Ollie will find a woman to be his wife on his own time. You don't have to worry."

"But I do. It's time for him to marry. That's without mentioning that the news of Lord Starling getting engaged would trump the gossip about you escaping with Mr. Harper to get married in Gretna Green."

Thea rolls her eyes while her husband shuffles awkwardly on his feet. Oliver can't say he was too pleased with her baby sister eloping, but he recognizes now that Roy is the perfect man for Thea. Despite his humble origins, Roy is quite a gentleman; quiet and taciturn, but a hard worker who's willing to do anything to make his wife happy. They're madly in love and Oliver couldn't ask anything less for his baby sister.

"I don't care about the malicious gossip. You shouldn't either," Thea counters. "Besides, it's been six months since then and nobody talks about it anymore." She gives Moira a devilish smile before walking to Roy's side. Thea looks at him adoringly and caresses his cheek, while saying, "Instead, mom, you should thank how honorable my husband is, who wouldn't bed me until we were married."

"Thea…" Roy warns her quietly. His discomfort for the topic of conversation is evident, but she ignores it and continues, "Also, it is fortunate that I took all this time to be with child…" instinctively, the future parents put their hands on Thea's low abdomen, still flat, "…or people would think that's the reason we got married."

The countess snaps her fan open and flaps it quickly. She's not happy with either of her children right now. Obviously, she expected more than what they are willing to give her. "Honestly, I'd think both of you should care more about our family name. This is not a jesting matter. "

"Mother, I beg you. Desist!" Oliver pleads. "No matter what you say, I'll find a wife when I deem appropriate. If it's tonight or in a year from now is irrelevant to you." The Countess is ready to counter the argument, so he swiftly adds, "And I'm not discussing it anymore."

His cutting tone finally reaches her and Moira backs down, priming her lips. Oliver knows that sooner than later, his mother will insist again. Dodging the matter momentarily, he can now concentrate on being a good host for the rest of night. Right on time because hooves can be heard approaching as the first guests to the ball arrive.

When Felicity steps inside the Queen mansion, she's amazed by how many people have come. It looks like the entire cream of London is here. Her entrance causes a stir among the crowd and a murmur spreads like a wildfire. Their agitation doesn't surprise her. Felicity knows that none of the attendants expected to see her at the party. She almost didn't go. This is the first ball she attends in nearly three years.

Felicity was never interested in the social life her mother insisted she should have. She rather spends her time reading books, decoding ciphers, or resolving mathematical problems, activities that Donna never reckoned appropriate for a woman. However, breaking the conventions, her father encouraged since Felicity was a child to cultivate her great intellect. When she became a widow, she had the perfect excuse for declining the invitations that so often people sent her and indulge in her favorite pastimes. Because of that, Felicity elongated the mourning for her late husband as long as she could, and far more than he deserved it, until she finally caved in to her mother's insistence and decided to come to this ball.

"Dear, you're still so young," Donna, Lady Smoak told her. "You deserve to have fun, to be happy again. You respected Lord Ghostfox's memory beyond any expectations, especially after losing him so soon after the wedding. It's time for you to move on, to find a new man for your life. I'm sure that any fine Lord would marry you now. Perhaps someone younger, a healthy gentleman who can resist the wedding night."

Felicity didn't appreciate the remark her mother did about the fact she became a widow the same day she got married. She considers that as a blessing, not that Felicity wished the death of the old man, but the circumstances of her wedding weren't ideal. Felicity's sacrifice seemed unbearable at the time, but life smiled at her at the right moment. Anyone would say that it was fate.

The ardent yearning Donna feels to see her married once more annoys Felicity to the extreme. What her mother fails to comprehend is that Felicity has no desire to wed again. She doesn't need a husband. Why would she tie herself to one when with her present marital status she has all the freedom she always dreamed of? In her world, women belong first to their fathers and later to their husbands. As a widow, she belongs to nobody but herself. Felicity does what she pleases without needing the acquiescence from any man.

Staying without a husband is a logical decision, in which her heart has no voice in it. Giving in to feelings is the worst mistake anyone can make, and she learned that in a hard way. All the men in her life had used her for their advantage in the past, therefore, Felicity will give up her freedom and future for no man.

For a second, standing just past the doorway of the ballroom, Felicity feels as if she is seventeen again. Being under the examination of such gathering transports her back to the days when she had been just presented to society. Such piercing and critical looks were unbearable for the shy, naive girl she had been, but no more. Felicity is no longer the gullible young lady all those people knew. She's a confident woman. Life taught her to brush off the judgment of others.

Among the curious and caviling stares that Felicity gets, there's one, in particular, that singe her in a million different ways. She doesn't need to search to whom belongs such intense gaze. Felicity knows. There, at the other side of the great salon and surrounded by a group of people, Lord Starling is watching her with rapt attention. His eyes skim up and down over her with a light of recognition, drinking her in. He devours her with his scorching gaze.

Felicity is aware of his presence with such intensity that it seems that the earl is at her side and not across the room. His scrutiny from afar is so powerful that she feels as if he's caressing her with his fingertips. Aware of the sexual quality of his look, she tilts her head slightly in his direction and proceeds on to greet the lady of the house before anyone else can pinpoint what is going on between them.

Nobody knows that for almost a year Oliver and Felicity have been having an affair… and she wants to keep it that way.

With a perfect curtsy, Felicity pays her respects, "Good evening, Lady Starling. Let me thank you for your kind invitation."

"It's the pleasure of the Earl, and mine, to count with your presence tonight, Lady Ghostfox."

While Felicity exchanges the accustomed pleasantries with the countess, a jovial voice breaks through cacophony of chat around them, demanding the attention of the lady. Turning to the person in question, Felicity sees the daughter of Lady Starling coming closer. She informs her mother of the imminent arrival of her cousin, the Duke of Greenmour. The countess excuses herself and walks away, displaying a regal elegance worthy of her surname. She treads through the crowd like a true queen.

Left to their own devices, the other two ladies take their time to greet properly. "Felicity, I am glad you came," Lady Thea says, giving a quick hug of affection. "I see Lady Smoak was successful in convincing you when I was not."

"It wasn't that difficult after you wore me out," Felicity feigns indignation. It's all an act. If anything makes worthy coming to the ball, it's meeting with her friends. Felicity's social circle is small and unconventional, but she wouldn't change it for the world.

"Felicity, be honest, dear. You were just dying to come and dazzle all the bachelors in London with that beautiful dress you are wearing," Thea teases. "Are you ready to delve back into the courtship market?"

Unconsciously, Felicity looks down to herself and smooths the skirt of her dress. Reluctantly, she admits to herself that it feels good dressing up to impress. She's not looking for a husband, but it makes her feel special when she gets male attention. It's good for her ego. Nevertheless, Felicity can't confess that to Thea or she'd never hear the end of it. Instead, she retorts, "Both you and my mother need to stop conspiring against me. I don't want to get married ever again."

"Never say never, my friend," Thea warns her playfully. "The right man for you could be closer than you think."

"I doubt it," Felicity counters while mindlessly her eyes shifts across the room and stop when they fall on Lord Starling's handsome figure. He's talking with a beautiful brunette. If Felicity is not mistaken, it's the Italian countess of who she has heard so much gossip about. The said lady leans forward to whisper something in his ear that makes Oliver's lips twitch in amusement. Felicity can't do anything to halt the scalding swell of jealousy dashing through her. Unwilling to show how much the interaction bothers her, Felicity returns her attention back to Lady Thea and changes the subject, "Where's Mr. Harper? It's not like him to be away from you for long."

Thea smiles fondly, "He's over there, talking with Leonard and Sara. Come on, they will be glad to see you here."

Intertwining their arms, Felicity and Thea amble through the crowd, making the required stops to greet acquaintances, until reaching the small group of friends at a side of the room. Next to Leonard and Sara, Lord and Lady Winterbird, is also Sir Raymond Palmer, Lady Caitlin Snow, and Mr. Bartholomew Allen.

Felicity tries to enjoy the night among her friends, dancing and drinking champagne. After a few hours, she starts feeling a little overwhelmed by the crowd. She's also a little tired from waltzing and her feet hurt, especially her toes that were accidentally stomped several times by Mr. Allen in the last dance. With the excuse of going to the ladies' room to freshen up, Felicity roams through the gorgeous mansion, searching for a quiet place, so she can relax for a few minutes. At the end of her exploration, she finds the library. Peeking into the room to make sure is unoccupied, she becomes astonished by size of it. She goes in gaping at the two-story chamber with several large bookshelves full of volumes. The light of two large chandeliers spills over the room, bright enough to sit on anywhere and be able to read without a problem. The fire burning in the hearth keeps the library pleasantry warm.

"I'm in heaven," she breathes, thinking how would be spending her days here, cuddling in a comfy armchair with a blanket over her and reading the large collection of books. Especially on the coldest days of winter.

Unable to resist, Felicity walks to the nearest shelf and get lost studying the books.

The night that Oliver is having is essentially how he imagined it would be. It is full of superfluous chat and lukewarm flirting; nothing worthy enough to catch his interest. The only highlight of the evening is the moment when he sees Lady Ghostfox stepping in the ballroom. His heart skips a beat and ravenous lust runs rampant through him, watching Felicity in her beautiful golden and turquoise dress. She is stunning.

For a while, he thinks he'd be able to steal a moment alone with her. Nobody knows they are lovers, and Oliver is fully aware that Felicity wants to keep it a secret. He can't blame her. It would be a scandal if people knew, and Felicity would take the brunt of it. The malicious talk would undeservingly tear her reputation apart. For Oliver, it wouldn't be so bad. Only one more stripe on his tiger skin.

Instead, it seems that the universe conspires to keep them from crossing paths. Felicity hasn't made any effort to approach him, and every time he tries, someone gets in his way. Men keep trying to talk to him and gain his favors while women want to seduce him and get into his bed. If it wasn't that, then a long line of gentlemen invite Felicity to dance. To his chagrin, she accepts. All he can do is to boil with jealousy as he watches her waltzing over and over again in the arms of men that aren't him.

When Oliver finally has the chance, he moves purposely toward her location, but he loses the sight of her. Frantic, he surveys the room without avail. He can't find her anywhere. His first thought is that she might have accepted somebody's invitation to take a walk in the gardens, but then Oliver remembers that she hates cold and the night is remarkably chilly. Therefore, that's not likely a possibility.

Spending the next few minutes searching for her, Oliver is empty-handed. He even asks if she went home to the footmen outside who are greeting and seeing the departure of the guests and the carriages.

"No, my lord," one of the boys says. "No lady has asked for a carriage to go home."

"Neither has a man, my lord. Nobody has left," the other footman chimes in. "If my lord wishes I can ask Barret," the stable boy, "if he knows something."

"No, that is all right. Carry on with your duties."

"Yes, my lord," the footmen utter in chorus.

Oliver goes inside the house again and searches room by room, until he gets to the grand library. This is where is kept most of the books and it's accessible to anyone at all times. There's a second, and much smaller, library of exclusive use up in the family quarters floor.

Initially, Oliver thinks the library is empty, but then, he hears the distinct whoosh of a lady skirt, which makes him look up. There she is, in the library's second story, grabbing a random book to give it a quick look and putting back in its place. Felicity looks as happy as a child on Christmas. Oliver is hypnotized by her bright face, engrossed in her delicate features while her beauty takes his breath away. Her beauty goes beyond her pretty face. It is something that comes from within her and irradiates outward. A quality that captivates him to unspoken levels. She's like nobody else he knows.

He loves her.

A fact that makes his head reel. Oliver dreamed about it, but never thought that he would actually fall in love with a woman this way.

Oblivious to his presence and ruminations, Felicity continues exploring the shelves and Oliver is tempted to call out for her. He opts for going to her instead. Oliver climbs the stairs to the upper level of the library, never taking his eyes off her and approaching her slowly as she takes yet another book. It's his old copy of The Odyssey. Felicity runs her fingertips over its spine, noting the heavy marks on it.

"I'm afraid that the damage is my doing. I'm not fond of reading, with the exception of that book," he confesses softly.

She jumps and squeaks, not expecting his company. The book slips from her hand and hits the wooden floor with a dry thud.

"Oh, Lord Starling!" she cries, turning around. "You scared me to death. Nobody has taught you to announce your presence?! I'm sure it is among the rules every earl must know, and if it's not, it should. I can look it for you if you want. So, you don't scare people anymore. Namely, me."

Right there, Oliver remembers one of the many things he loves Felicity. Her rambles are refreshing and adorable. They make her unique. "I apologize. Was never my intention," he says, squatting down to pick up the book. Oliver gets on his feet slowly, taking Felicity in and roaming his eyes over her with a sinful glance. As he puts the book back on the shelf, he steps in Felicity's personal space, cornering her against the bookcase. He looks at her with hooded eyes and asks huskily, "And I'm Lord Starling to you now? That's not what you called me last time we saw each other."

The vivid memory of a naked Felicity splayed out in bed underneath him with her legs wrapped around his waist dashes through his mind. He recalls her screaming his name in the throes of passion while he buried himself in her again and again until both were lost in an explosive climax. With satisfaction, Oliver notes that she remembers it as well. He knows this because her eyes darken with hunger and she licks her lips, as if remembering the feeling of his lips on them. Unable to help himself, he traces his thumb over the glossy flesh, delectable and sweet as a peach.

"You are the Earl of Starling, aren't you?" she points out, short of breath.

"For most people, yes, I am. Although, I'm so much more to you, don't I?" Oliver says as he tilts her chin up, urging her to look at him in the eyes. He leans down and brushes his lips against hers, depriving Felicity of the opportunity to reply. The kiss starts as gentle nibbling, but soon it heats up.

Felicity gives him complete access to her mouth as her arms go up and around his neck. Her delicate fingers play with his hair, sending chills down his spine. Oliver's hands are free to roam over the sculptural curves of her body, feeling the light texture of the dress and the hardness of the corset underneath. Her warmth, her scent drives him crazy. All that Oliver wants is to taste every inch of her body… delight himself with the marvelous things Felicity has to offer. She moans as Oliver breaks from his kiss and trails his lips and tongue down her throat to her shoulder.

"Oliver," she gasps. His name on her lips sounds as a contrasting word. It's as much a warning as it is a plea.

Felicity rubs her soft body against the hardness of his, creating a maddening friction as he pulls her dress off her shoulder to taste her velvety skin there. The dress slides down enough to uncover the upper hem of her corset that accentuates her breasts. Oliver takes it as an unspoken invitation to explore. As his lips travel over the fleshy swell of her bosom, he feels some reluctance coming from Felicity.

"Oliver, please. Not in here. Someone could enter and see us."

He stops laying kisses on her to say, "Nobody would dare."

"Don't be so arrogant. You just— oh, God!"

He quiets her protests by nuzzling Felicity's neck and teasing her most sensitive spot by taking her earlobe with his lips and sucking it gently. Felicity's body loses its strength as her breathing agitates. Oliver is playing with fire and also dirty. Felicity's concern is valid but, right now, when he has her so close and her scent overwhelms his nose, he can't let her go. The need to be inside her is greater than the fear of getting caught.

"Don't deny me, please. You've been provoking me all night long,” he breathes in her ear while his hand goes around her and his fingers work in frenzy to open the endless line of minuscule buttons in the back of her dress. Then his tone turns growly, “With this dress… with your cold indifference… every time you accepted the invitation of a man to dance.”

“I didn’t ignore you,” Felicity protests. “You barely put your eyes on me, being distracted by all those women that floated around you the entire evening. Why would you look at me when you had the Contessa di Moschella right in front of you?”

The unmistakable hue of jealousy and hurt in her voice reaches him and makes him pull away from her. Cupping her beautiful face between his large hands, Oliver makes sure she understands this, “Felicity, there’s nobody in this party, or in the world, that can make me not be aware of you. I can’t help women trying to get a piece of me, but that’s a fool’s endeavor. None of them catch my attention. It’s impossible. Not after knowing you. All I want is you.”

Noting that his words aren’t reaching Felicity, Oliver chooses to prove it to her with actions. He takes one of her hands and guides it to the tight bulge in his trousers. “This is because of you. This is what you do to me. You, Lady Ghostfox, are who awakens my body, my passion; no one else does that. Let me prove you that I desire only you.”

“Oliver, I— we shouldn’t,” she protests feebly. Her resistance has turn into merely a show. Felicity holds onto Oliver harder instead of pushing him away. She can fight the lust as much as he can, which is nothing. Her hand turns curious and greedy, stroking him with leisure. This is how he knows he has won.

With fervor, Oliver seals her lips with his own while his fingers comes back to the tasks of unbuttoning her dress and finding the lace of the corset. Wrapping the thin ribbon around his knuckles, he pulls it until the whalebones loosen and Felicity’s compressed torso is free. The corset slides to the floor, underneath the dress that still cover her body.

Her skin is tender and swollen, craving for his touch. More than willing to acquiesce the unspoken plea, Oliver slides his hand between the crack of the dress and glide it over her warm and silky skin. Traveling the soft line of her back, Oliver’s hand reaches to the curve of her buttocks. Felicity moans, no doubt feeling against her the bulge of his stiff cock, hot and throbbing, trapped in the confines of his clothes.

“Let’s hurry,” she urges him as her fingers fumble to unfasten his trousers. “Hurry before I change my mind or someone gives in to the understandable but ill-timed desire to come here and read a book.”

She doesn’t need to tell him twice. If they were at her house, where usually he sneaks in every two nights or so at her request, Oliver would take his time undressing Felicity and having an extended foreplay session until both were almost insane from desire. He likes to take his time making love to her. Slow lovemaking is definitely one of his favorite things to do with her.

Right now, however, he doesn’t have that luxury. It’s his own fault, Oliver knows that. Time for finesse is only reserved for private places. In here, all that they care is to satiate the hunger consuming them.

“Come here,” Oliver prompts her to walk backwards, approaching the loveseat that is between the two largest bookshelves. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Oliver makes her turn.

“Get on your knees.”

The husky whisper in her ear turns Felicity’s muscles into mush. She knows exactly what Oliver’s intentions are. That makes her excitement mount up, liquefying her desire and pooling it up in her belly. Her core drips, greedily waiting to feel his mighty thrusts inside her. His cock will fill and stretch her to the full.

By the tiniest pressure of his hands on her shoulders, Felicity’s leg muscles give out and she kneels in front of the small couch. She can’t help turning and sitting on her heels while watching Oliver as he takes his jacket off and tosses it on the couch in front of her. Oliver’s moves as he pulls his shirt free from the inside of his trousers mesmerizes her. Felicity gets glimpses and then a full view of his shaped torso, with his defined abdomen and hard chest muscles, when he finally takes it completely off. His buffed arms that are a testimony to his strength are a sight for sore eyes. Those same arms that always hold her with an incredible gentleness, almost as if he’s afraid that they could break her.

Just then, Felicity focuses on his big hands while he unbuttons his pants, getting his thick, hard shaft free. Felicity bites her lips, holding a whimper. She’s desperate to have it inside her. Her core twitches at the thought.

“Turn around,” Oliver says and she immediately obliges.

Felicity shivers as he kneels behind her. With efficient moves, Oliver pulls the skirts of her dress up until revealing her needy body beneath. She feels Oliver grabbing her hips and his thumbs digging into the roundness of her back cheeks. He slips a hand between her legs, seeking the opening in her linen drawers[1]. Felicity moans, feeling the light brushing of his expert fingers over her inflamed folds.

“Oliver, please,” she begs, not caring how desperate she sounds. Felicity needs him. Now.

“Bossy, are you?” he teases her while, using both hands, he pulls the seam until the piece is wide open. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you wait any longer. You’re getting what you want.”

With the anticipation wreaking havoc inside her, Felicity bents over and leans her body completely on the loveseat as Oliver nudges her legs apart with his knees. Felicity sighs satisfied when she feels him moving closer to her and the hot, throbbing head of his shaft brushes her damp slit.

He nudges her entry, but is she who pushes back, half impaling herself on him; Felicity can’t wait any longer. Oliver growls her name as her grabs her hips roughly and finishes thrusting deep into her. Felicity cries in pleasure as he buries himself all the way to the hilt. She can’t breathe as Oliver takes control. Felicity’s head reels by how it good feels having him inside. His powerful shoves are deep and unrelenting.

Each thrust provokes in Felicity a delicious frisson in her entire body, which are heightened by the sensation of Oliver’s stubble scraping her back, while he leaves a hot trail of kisses on her nape. She loves the sensation.

His hot breath tickles her ear as he susurrates, “This is how you like it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she cries, feeling as Oliver speeds up the pace. “Oh, yes! Like that. More, give me more!”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, laying more kisses on her shoulder. His hands venture under her dress and up her torso, reaching for her breasts. She moans as his hands knead her tender globes. “Goodness, Felicity, you feel so good!”

The sudden pain of her nipples being pinched makes Felicity gasps. The ache swiftly turns into pleasure when Oliver roll them gently between his index fingers and thumbs. Felicity knows she slipping further into the lustful madness. She can’t get enough of Oliver, so she whimpers, cries unintelligible pleas, and ever curses, all with the purpose of getting what she wants. All that she needs is his vigorous onslaught. Her orgasm is coming.

Felicity’s so gone, lost in a passionate delirium, that she fails to notice that her fear of being discovered in a compromising situation is coming true. The door of the library opens and two gentlemen walk inside.

She moans miserably when Oliver stops his thrusts.

“Shh, shh,” blanketing over her, he whispers urgently in her ear. “Be quiet.”

She whimpers quietly, “Don’t stop, please.” Steadfast in receiving the promised pleasure, she pushes her hips back but Oliver holds her immobile. “Vixen,” he says in a barely audible humorous growl. “I’ll continue only if you are silent.”

Willing to do anything to soothe her desperate need, she nods and bites her lip. Felicity fists he hands and pinches the cushions on the couch, realizing that it’s not that easy to hold back her moans once Oliver plunges back into her at a frantic pace. Her body tenses and her inner walls try their damnedest to hold Oliver’s cock inside as she nears closer and closer to the edge.

She hears a murmur of voices, but she ignores it. All she cares is the pleasure she feels every time Oliver thrusts his unyielding cock into her. Felicity lost all contact with the reality when Oliver moves his hand between her legs to the place where their body are joined. With a gentle but firm circular motion, Oliver teases her inflamed bundle of nerves there, provoking a devastating surge of pleasure with a subsequent explosion of sublime satisfaction. Her body tenses with a series of spasms around Oliver’s shaft, taking him to find his own wrecking climax. She set her mistreated lip, only to bite the cushion beneath her, suppressing the scream bubbling in her throat.

Behind her, Oliver breathes noisily, trying to the same. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Felicity acknowledges that this could be the first time that they have such a quiet climax. Usually, both are quite vocal.

It takes some time, but Felicity finally gets back to reality. She feels Oliver pulling out of her, and she misses him instantly. That’s not the worst. Now, she hears the men speaking downstairs and horror fill her. Felicity turns around, giving a killing stare to Oliver, who wears a smug grin on his face.

“I’m going to kill you,” she mouths at him furiously.

“They don’t know we are here,” he excuses just as silently.

“Don’t care. I cannot believe you!”

Oliver looks at her in the way he only reserves for her. She hates it because it makes him irresistible to her. When he looks her at that, she forgives him anything. “Sorry, Felicity,” he whispers as he gets closer to her. “I can’t help myself. I love you. I can’t regret this, even if you get mad at me. I always want you, no matter the place or the time.” He nuzzles her neck and she melts into his embrace.

“I love you too,” she confesses grudgingly. Then she adds, “We can’t stay here, what if they come up?”

“They won’t. Listen…”

Steps echoes as the men chat. Now, Felicity recognizes who they are, Sir Palmer and Professor Stein, talking about a revolutionary scientific theory. In other circumstances, she would love to hear them talk, even if the Professor looks at her with displeasure when she tries to engage a conversation about such things with him, but Ray is a friend and he’s always willing to hear her opinions. Right now, she’s glad that they walk out of the room.

For a moment, Felicity breathes content in Oliver’s arm, but in the end they break apart. Once, they avoid disaster, a second time in the same night, the might not. After getting properly dress again, they kiss one last time before Felicity leaves the library. Five minutes later, Oliver does the same.

The rest of the night goes in a blur. This time around, Felicity is fully aware of Oliver eating her with his stare. She blushes every time their eyes crosses, just remembering their stolen moment in the library and wanting to repeat it… just more privately next time.

Felicity knows that won’t pass much time before he comes to her house to fulfill her desire. She can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested...
> 
> [1] Drawers for women in the mid 1800s were split leggings and about knee length. Each leg was finished separately and joined together at the waistband only, leaving the crotch seam open, but crafted so there was a bit of an overlap. They usually had a drawstring at the waist and tied or buttoned at the centre back, but sometimes in the front. Drawers were made of various materials, white linen very popular and often trimmed with lace, but plain cotton was the most affordable. Linen held up well in the times of strong lye soaps. It was noted in 1840 that women who rode frequently wore flannel or wash-leather drawers, with or without white calico leglets. For most women, split drawers were a necessity, because with all the layers they couldn’t pull down their drawers to use a chamberpot, much less pull them back up again, particularly when a tight corset was added to the outfit. ([Source](http://www.katetattersall.com/early-victorian-undergarments-part-4-pantelettes-pantalettes/))


End file.
